


Expectations

by Rarilee6



Category: The Simpsons
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, First Dates, Fluff and Angst, M/M, One Shot, people stop physically ageing at 30
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 10:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30071208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rarilee6/pseuds/Rarilee6
Summary: Monty worries he'll never find anyone, having been discouraged from years of failure to find his match. At this point, he's so close to accepting he's meant to be alone.He's not.A soulmates au, a world in which people stop physically ageing at 30 and find their soulmates through way of a mutual, euphoric touch.
Relationships: Charles Montgomery Burns/Waylon Smithers
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Expectations

**Author's Note:**

> A one-shot (I hope it's not too short) I'd like to bring you amidst the other, longer projects I have going! I've always liked soulmate aus.

Monty didn’t believe in soulmates. Not for himself. At a time, he had been upset, he knew he was attractive, and yet everyone who he went out with turned out not to be the one.

He’d had so many failed trials, that it festered in his mind a notion that perhaps he was meant to be alone. He didn’t know how old he was, but he’d been at it for so many years. He pretended he was still 30, and like many others, he sort of was- in everything but mind, which knew his experiences.

And he was _tired_ of it all; nothing had found him a suitable partner. Something was supposed to happen, he didn’t know what- people had described it as a touch of warm euphoria. It hadn’t happened to him yet. He’d certainly tried. Holding hands with his date always turned up nothing, nor did kissing, or sex, if it got that far.

Waiting for his morning tea, Monty pulled his hair loose and twisted it around his fingers. He’d grown it out again after he’d had it cut a few years back, and had realised he’d liked how it had been before just fine. At least that was something he could control.

Monty’s apartment was quiet, peaceful, but he felt a bit empty all the same. He’d been feeling that way for a while. He had no-one to share his life how he craved, it seemed a dream away.

Discouraged, he’d been considering the possibility he was one of those people who didn’t have a match at all. They were rare, but it seemed to happen.. at least, he’d seen some cases online and one time in the news. And it had scared him, to know it was a real phenomenon, that it was plausible he could be without a soulmate.

The tea kettle whinged, and Monty stood up from the table to pour the hot water into a mug.

**

A few hours later, Monty headed back home from the bakery with the cake he liked, wondering if maybe he should save it for his dinner. Otherwise, he was a terrible cook, and he didn’t want to lose his current apartment to another fire like the one he’d accidentally started before.

Lost in thought, Monty walked right into a wall- rather, another person. Startled, he jumped back on the pavement, to regard with whom he’d collided.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” The other man reddened, fixing his glasses. “Are you alright?”  
“Fine, thank you.” Monty brushed himself off.

The man studied him. “Do you live in Springfield? I feel like I’ve seen you before…”

“Yes, I do. I’m Monty.” He wasn’t sure why he was sharing his name, but the stranger intrigued him.

“Waylon.” He looked at Monty, his expression curious and... something else. “I’m forty-one, thirty officially.” He was taller, more muscular, broad-shouldered, but his demeanour was oddly gentle, to Monty.

“You kept track?”

Waylon shrugged. “I guess so, yes. You don’t?”  
“No.” Monty chuckled. “I might be older than you.”  
“Don’t you know the year you were born?”

“I used to remember… but I stopped keeping track of my age after I turned thirty, and I haven’t bothered with it since. I just know my birthday is the 15th of September.” 

“Mine is December 25th.” Waylon nodded.

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Anyway, uh…” Waylon blushed, and stepped to the side of the pavement, to avoid passer-by; Monty followed, curious with this chance encounter. Waylon glanced at his left hand. “You aren’t married?”

“No. I’ve not found anyone yet. I’ve tried, for years. Mm…” Monty brushed his hair behind his ear. “You aren’t either?”

“No, same as you. I’ve tried, but I haven’t felt _it_ , yet, in any sort of mutual touch.”  
“Me neither, clearly. Do you think you will?” Monty asked.

“What? Of course…” Waylon frowned. “Don’t you?”  
“I don’t know. I don’t think so, to be honest with you.”

“But…” Waylon sighed, gazing at him. “You… Monty, I know we just met-”

Monty leaned forward. “Yes?”  
“Er… well, first, do you… would you ever like to… meet me somewhere? For a drink or a meal, something like that?” Waylon twisted his hands. “I…”

“Oh…” Some part of him had expected Waylon to say that, but, to hear it…

“It’s okay if you don’t,” Waylon added quickly, “I just, uh…”  
“I didn’t say that.”

Waylon’s posture relaxed. “Here, let me give you my phone number.” Monty typed into his phone the list of numbers given, and gave Waylon his number in return.

He might as well go out with Waylon- it would be entertaining, at least, he hadn’t been on a date in a while. Nothing would come out of it, but…

“Can I ask, er, when are you free?” Waylon asked.

Monty shrugged. “I’m not doing anything tonight.”

Waylon’s face reddened. “O-oh…” He scratched his hair. “Right, uh, do you know the Italian restaurant on Ninth street…? I’d like to take you there.”

“Oh, I think so. I could meet you there, around eight, or earlier, but I don’t want to eat before seven.” Monty chuckled. Now he could either eat the cake when he arrived home, or save it for the next day.

“Seven-thirty, then?”

“Mm.”

Waylon smiled. “Sounds good. I’ll see you later. Er, sorry again, for bumping into you-”

“I… I wasn’t looking either…” Monty blushed. “I’ll see you at seven-thirty.”

They parted ways, going in their respective directions, Monty shaking, his heart palpitating, his excitement pushed down by his expectation that nothing would happen, he wouldn’t find his soulmate now, tonight… He sighed, already thinking about eating the cake. At least he knew something good would come from that.

**

Despite the expectation Waylon would just be one of the many non-soulmates he met, Monty dressed up for the dinner, brushing his hair and combing his fringe, picking out a suit jacket out of the two he owned. He knew of the restaurant Waylon had been referring to, a bit of formality wouldn’t be out of place.

“Hello.”  
“Hi, Monty.” Waylon grinned at him. “How are you?”

“I’m alright.” He slid into the chair across from Waylon’s. Waylon also wore a suit jacket, beaming at Monty, and Monty almost wanted to take his hand, to see if, perhaps, they were meant to be together… but then the rest of the date would be ruined for him, and too for Waylon, who would be disappointed when nothing happened between them. Monty was quite sure he was one of the population without a soulmate, loathed as he was to admit it. He was meant to be alone, never finding anyone to last.

Waylon didn’t try to initiate contact, either; perhaps he were afraid of the same thing. He blinked at Monty, eyes hooded, smiling. “You know…”

“Hm?”

“You… you’re beautiful…” Waylon stared down at his pasta. “I just… that’s what I thought, earlier, and now. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“Oh…” Monty fumbled with the cloth napkin in his hands. _Beautiful…_

Had anyone ever called him that before? Surely, _someone_ had… but it rang differently now…

“I just… can’t believe you don’t already have someone. And when you told me you don’t even think there’s _anyone_ out there for you…” He shook his head.

“I’ve been through many a failed relationship,” Monty said, twirling his own linguine around a fork, “I’ve spent much energy and time trying… and nothing has turned up.”

“I’m sorry. You deserve a soulmate- you have one, somewhere, I just…” Waylon put his wine down.

“Thank you for the pity,” Monty muttered.

“What? It wasn’t pity…” Waylon creased his brow.

“Mm...” Monty thought. “So, tell me about yourself.”

“Oh, well…” Waylon seemed surprised at the shift in conversation, but didn’t voice any discrepancies if he had them. “I’ve lived in Springfield my entire life… I live alone, now, with my dog-”

“You have a dog?”

“Yes, a Yorkshire terrier, Hercules.”

“I’ve always wanted a Doberman,” Monty said, brightening, “I love them.”

“I hope you can get one someday, then.”

“Yes, if I could afford to…” Monty rolled his eyes. “My family used to have more money, a long time ago, not my parents, however. Rather, it was my dad’s father; he was involved in a string of court cases… he was sued multiple times… and then he left the country with what he had left.”  
“Wow…” Waylon blinked. “That’s incredible.”  
“Eh.” Monty waved his hand. “Continue.”

“I… uh… like to go out, to bars… sometimes I drink too much, especially when I’m feeling low…” Waylon tilted his head. “But you don’t want to hear that. Let’s see…”

“I wasn’t expecting it- though it’s good to know, I suppose.”

“I don’t know if this will turn you off, I… collect Malibu Stacy dolls.” Waylon tapped his fingers together.

 _Malibu Stacy_ …? “Oh, I know what those are. Do you have a lot, then?”

Waylon nodded proudly. “I have over two hundred, yes. I’ve been collecting since I was a child.”

“Must be a valuable collection.” Monty wondered if he should tell Waylon about Bobo… but he was a bit anxious to. If things went well, if the impossible happened, and they were meant to be together, he’d divulge.

“Tell me about it,” Waylon said, “you don’t know how difficult it is to find some of them if I want to buy a rare one… I’ve gotten better at bidding over the years, but… hm. Do you collect anything?”

Monty shook his head. “No. What else?”

“I write screenplays… on occasion. Er, I’ve actually only written one, with many others unfinished… I like to watch some shows, mostly sitcoms. I write articles for an online magazine for a living, that focuses on pop culture, and sometimes I get hired to write for other outlets as a guest. When I was younger I used to think I might be a scientist- my dad was- but that didn’t happen.”

“Which sort of scientist?”  
“Particle physicist.” Waylon sipped his water. “I didn’t get into it, though, obviously… I don’t think he would’ve minded.”

“He’s-”

“He died when I was a year old, yeah.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay, thanks though.” Waylon set his glass on the table. “Do you want to… tell me more about yourself?”

“I write, too, but fiction…”  
“Are you an author? Have you published anything?”

Monty chuckled. “No, I write in my spare time. I work as an accountant.”

“Oh.” Waylon nodded. “Do you work for a firm, or…?”  
“I have a practice, though I’m forced to share the floor space with other people, who have their own businesses.” Monty snorted. “I have the nicest office, though.”

“I’m sure.” Waylon’s tone was sincere. “So you like… financial stuff …?”

“I’ve been interested in economics and business for a long while, yes. And I am an excellent accountant, I would say more competent than… some, which is why my rates are higher.” Monty smiled. “I know what to do, for the right price.” He laughed, Waylon joining in.

“Mm… What else do you like, besides writing stories?”

“Going to the bakery,” Monty said, “which I was coming home from, before, when we first met.”  
“You like sweets?”

“I do. I had a piece of cake today.”

“Do you bake, too?”

“Oh, no, I don’t cook.”

“At _all_?” Waylon widened his eyes. “Do you just… not want to?”

“I, ah…” Monty sighed. He might as well confess. “I can’t do it. If I were to try, I’d burn down my apartment building.”

Waylon’s expression softened. “Oh. Er… do you _want_ to cook, though?”  
“I have an arrangement that works, so, not really.”  
“What’s your arrangement?”

“I buy takeaway or microwave things… _that_ I can do. I can make a sandwich, though it’d be messy… and I buy fruit, since that can be eaten right away.”

“I… I’d like to cook for you,” Waylon said, “or I could show you how to make something- never mind.”

“Hm? Why?”

“I mean… we could still be friends and all if we don’t turn out to be soulmates, but I don’t know how you’d feel about that, or if you’d even want me to come over, or vice versa.”

Monty bit his lip. “I see.” Waylon was right, he didn’t really socialise with people he’d failed to find a soulmate in- most of them found their actual soulmate, or didn’t bother with him anymore, save for a few exceptions. But that didn’t mean the same fate had to befall Waylon, when the inevitable happened. Though Waylon would be disappointed, and Monty… Monty thought he had grown numb by now to the sense of disappointment at not finding his soulmate again and again, but new anxiety and anticipation had been stirring inside him. He wanted, now, for something to work, for his touch against Waylon’s to be spectacular. But it felt like a fantasy.

When it came time to pay the bill, Waylon paid for both their meals, saying it was ‘no issue’. Monty hadn’t ordered any dessert, since he’d had that cake already, and he didn’t feel like it. He’d swallowed a gaping hole, that grew as he imagined what he couldn’t have, and…

He felt like a brick was lodged in his throat, he tried to push past it, but he blinked, and a few tears rolled down his cheeks. He cleaned them off, hoping Waylon hadn’t seen. He forced himself to stop, and followed Waylon back outside.

“Monty?”

“Hm? Thank you for the dinner.”

“Of course, but- are you okay?” Waylon’s face, spilling with the contrasting lights of the street signage, fixed on him. “You were crying.” He lowered his voice.

“It’s nothing to do with you.”

“I’m sorry.” Waylon turned his head. “Well, I had a nice time-”

“It won’t work.”

“What?”

Monty huffed. “I would be an idiot to think it would work, this time, after the hundreds of people…” Waylon blinked at him. “We aren’t soulmates! It isn’t ‘meant to be’ or any of that nonsense…” His face was wet again.

“We never tried. I… I’m afraid too, but we have to at least try…”

“I’m not _afraid_ … I just know it won’t work.”

“But… you don’t,” Waylon said quietly.

“Yes, I do. Let’s find out, hm?” Monty trembled. “I should _apologise_ for disappointing you in advance.” He glowered, and looked around them. He and Waylon were the only people in the near vicinity.

“I want to try, if you do.”

Monty closed his eyes. “Fine.” He took a deep breath, trying to clear his head. He lifted his shaking hand and held it out, and shut his eyes again, his nerves at an all-time high.

Gentle, warm contact bridged their hands, and it was pleasant, but ordinary… though something told Monty not to let go, and he opened his eyes as the touch seemed to multiply, to wrap him in heat as if in an embrace, to assure him he was safe and _loved_ , flowing through his veins, lighting his heart. It enveloped him, called to him, in splendid euphoria.

Monty gasped, his heart still on fire, as he met Waylon’s eyes, just as wide as his. Unfathomable relief and happiness coursed in his chest. Monty smiled, his tears returning, but he didn’t care.

“I… I felt it…” he murmured, incredulous, “you… I _found_ you… you’re…”

Waylon opened his arms, Monty moving forward to accept them, hugging Waylon, feeling the same wonderful heat around his own body. He sighed, tremulous, his discouraged fantasy upstaged by this tangible reality unfolding for him- for them both.

“ _We’re_ soulmates,” Waylon said, his tone carrying a happy disbelief, “oh, Monty...”

Monty’s cheek pressed to the rapid beat of Waylon’s heart. “Don’t get sappy on me.” He sniffed. He didn’t move, overwhelmed with emotion, resting in his soulmate’s arms, at peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
